


Every Wise Man's Son Doth Know

by Quoshara



Category: Battlestar Galactica (1978)
Genre: Class Differences, Drunkenness, First Meetings, Gen, Intervention, Lumpers and Humpers, Pre-Slash, Vanity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-21
Updated: 2012-06-21
Packaged: 2017-11-08 05:26:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/439637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quoshara/pseuds/Quoshara
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Starbuck first met Apollo, he was just out for a quiet drink.<br/>When Apollo first met Starbuck, he was just trying to get away from his life.<br/>Oh, well...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Every Wise Man's Son Doth Know

**Author's Note:**

> _This fic was written for a challenge on the "Battlestar Slash" Yahoo group. The challenge was to tell a different story of how Starbuck and Apollo first met._
> 
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> Thanks to hardboiledbaby and speak_me_fair for the beta work. They tame my rampant ellipses, nurse my abused commas back to health, make sure my slang fits the genre and that I keep trying to improve. 
> 
> Also, thanks to SMF, for reasons far beyond fic.

* * *

It had been a pretty normal night in _The Stack_. Well, as normal as a bar could be that was called _The Stack_. No one really knew how the place had come by such a strange name but if you asked Mikel, the loquacious owner, he'd suddenly become very quiet and just point to a portrait behind the bar. The picture was of a beautiful redhead with long, long legs, leaning slightly forward in a manner that did nothing to detract from the fact that she was physically balanced in all the best ways, one long red-painted nail skimming over a row of books on the shelf before her. Whether _The Stack_ referred to the books or the girl herself was something that no one but Mikel seemed to know, and he wasn't sharing.

"Another round, Starbuck?" Jans asked him from behind the bar. 

"Sure. Why not?" Starbuck was pretty flush at the moment. He'd done well at Pyramid that night and had pulled a tricky double rainbow when he'd tossed the cubes with a couple of space jockeys earlier on. It would be enough to last him until after Sevenday, but he was hoping to luck into a delivery run or something before that. He hated being grounded for too long. No matter how thrilling the gamble or how outrageous the con, nothing took the place of soaring through the black between worlds, even in the broken down pieces of crap he usually had to pilot.

Starbuck looked around the bar, noting all the regulars in their usual seats, as well as a few people he didn't know, but who fit in just the same – spacers, of course; they never stayed for long but were always welcome for their money's sake and the cachet they lent even to a pit like _The Stack_. There was one new face, however, that didn't quite seem to fit in.

"Here you go, Starbuck." Jans sat his drink down at his elbow.

"Hey, Jans. Who's the fresh meat sitting at Dylan's table?" 

"Don't know." Jans gave a shrug. "Pretty boy is my guess, but I don't know him. He looks familiar though, somehow."

"Too well dressed for a pretty boy, Jans. Look at those boots. Even if he bought them at a refurb shop they'd be more than I won at Pyramid last quatron." And last quatron he'd had particularly good luck.

"You gonna take up the bait?" Jans joked at him.

"Nah," Starbuck answered, "too fresh for me." 

He picked up his drink, but couldn't help keeping half an eye on the younger man. In spite of Starbuck's denial, the guy was just exactly his type and hey, it never cost anything to look, did it?

He was dark-haired and had dressed a bit on the roguish side –tight black trousers, gold and crème shirt, open-collared, that made his skin seem to shimmer faintly under the bar's slightly reddish lighting. He had one slim leg and one of those damned expensive boots draped along the length of the booth he was lounging in, possibly for extra balance judging from the empty glasses sitting on the table in front of him. From where he was, Starbuck could count at least five empties and as far as he could tell, the guy was the only one at the table.

That wouldn't last long though. Starbuck gave a grimace as he saw Dylan come into the bar. The big cargo lumper didn't seem at all happy to see that someone had taken over what he considered to be "his" spot. The pretty was going to get un-pretty very quickly if he gave Dylan too much guff about moving.

Syla, the on-duty server, had obviously seen Dylan come in too. She had scurried over to drop off a refill and request payment from the young man. Roughed up customers didn't tip well…or at all. She collected her payment, running the guy's credit chit on her portable unit and moved quickly out of range of whatever was going to happen next. Starbuck leaned toward her as she returned to the bar.

"Hey, Sy."

"Bucko." 

"Smart girl to get out of there so quick."

"My momma didn't raise any fools, Bucko, and I know that Dylan's got the boiling point of a pint of tester fuel." She shook her head, looking back at the stranger. "Too bad. New guy seems to be nice. Said his name was Rondo, but his credit chit reads….Apollo."

"Apollo?! Frak…" Starbuck suddenly realized why the guy looked familiar. "That's Commander Adama's son."

"Really?" Jans suddenly looked horrified. "It's one thing for some tourist to get roughed from taking on a local… but someone like that? City-Sec will have us shut down for a quatron, just to appease him."

"Guess we'll just have to make sure it doesn't happen then." Starbuck spun around on his stool, calling out, "Rondo! You drunken piece of Grealthan droppings, get out of the man's seat."

Rondo/Apollo blinked twice at Starbuck, then looked around as if trying to figure out who he was talking to.

_Great._ Starbuck shook his head. Not only was the guy in the wrong place at the wrong time but he was too drunk to remember the name he'd given himself. Dylan was a mean customer at the best of times, but he also seemed to have a grudge against anyone who _had_ more than he did, a description that fit Apollo right down to his fancy boots. Well, Starbuck would just have to make sure that Dylan didn't find out that the pretty boy was anything more than just pretty.

He moved over to where Apollo was sitting and started pulling him to his feet. "Come on, Rondo… It's time to go."

"Who's Rondo?" Apollo blinked at him owlishly.

"Now, darling, I know we said we'd do a bit of role-play tonight, but I think you've had a bit too much to drink to hold up your end of the bargain. Let's just leave Dylan his seat and we'll try this another time." Starbuck had managed to get the man standing, although it was anyone's guess how long he'd manage to keep him that way, the alcohol seemed to have turned his legs to rubber.

"Don' wanna go…" Apollo slurred at him with a puzzled expression. "Do I know you?"

"Starbuck. Haven't I told you before about putting your pretties at my table?" Dylan was right on top of them now. 

"Yes, Dylan, you have… and I'm so sorry. If I'd known you were coming in tonight I'd never have let him sit there." Starbuck was talking fast, signally Jans to fix Dylan a drink and Syla to clear the mess from the table. "But look at him, Dylan. How could I resist putting something so special anywhere but in the best seat in the place?"

Dylan scowled, but seemed appeased when Jans shoved a large glass of ambrosa into his hand. "Yeah, yeah… I guess he's okay. Just get him out of here."

"I'll do that." Starbuck nodded and tried to tug Apollo away. "Come on, Rondo. I've got a bed that's calling your name."

"Not Rondo…" Apollo grumbled at him. "'m 'Pollo…"

"That's right, and I'm Uncle Zaius." Starbuck looked up at Dylan. "Kid's got a bit of a daddy-kink. I'll just take him home and sober him up and leave you to your drink."

"Not s'pose to go home wi' strangers…" Apollo looked puzzled again. "'M so tired…"

"I know you are, _'Pol_." Starbuck winked at Dylan and pulled Apollo's arm over his shoulder. "I've got a place where you can rest…eventually."

"M'kay…" Apollo muttered, and proceeded to slide down to the floor.

"Whoa. Hold on." Starbuck caught him just in time, moving to pick him up over his shoulder in an emergency carry position. "Damn, _'Pol_ , you're heavier than you look."

"I'm u'side-down," Apollo grumbled. "I mi' puke."

Well, even if the idea was disgusting, it made Dylan laugh a bit, which meant they were just that much closer to getting out the door without a fight.

"You do and I'll smack your ass until you won't be able to sit tomorrow," Starbuck told him, punctuating it with a sharp swat to his backside.

"Hey…!!" 

"Well, I could dump you on your head. It would certainly do less damage at this point," Starbuck sighed. "Night, Dylan. Sy, Jans… Thanks." 

He tossed Jans enough money to cover his tab and Dylan's drink and made a quick exit, a protesting Apollo still draped over his shoulder.

"Don' wanna leave. Who are you?"

Fortunately, nothing but laughter followed them out the door.

**

Starbuck's current living space was two rooms and a bath. Fancier than he could afford, really, but he'd always lived on the principle that money attracts money. So he kept the place, scrounged and went short on food sometimes to pay for it. And so far, although it hadn't attracted much money, it had attracted quite a few women, a bit fewer men, and steady, if not financially rewarding, work. 

He had never been more glad of having it than when he dumped Apollo, passed out after their short journey, on his second-hand couch. Apollo would be accustomed to even better, of course, but at least Starbuck wouldn't feel like he needed to apologize to the man for waking up in a flophouse.

Starbuck had to admit, the man was beyond pretty, even like this: hair standing up all over, face red from being carried upside down. Adama's son, jewel of his father's eye and heir to a long dynasty of service to the Colonies. And here he was…passed out on Starbuck's very own new/used couch.

There had to be a story behind this.

He shook his head and then reached down to tug off Apollo's boots. Not out of any idea of making him comfortable, more for the safety of that very same new/used couch.

"Hey…."

"Shhh… sleep it off. It's okay."

"'S my boots."

"Yes, and they'll be right here in the morning." Starbuck made a big show of placing them on the floor next to the couch. The last thing he needed was for the guy to come over all surly because he thought Starbuck was stealing them.

"Thirsty…"

"You probably are. I'll get you some water."

"Want s'more ambrosa…"

"I'll bet. But you need water or you'll be very unhappy in the morning," Starbuck told him. He handed Apollo a glass of water and a couple of pain-stoppers, encouraging him to take them.

He did. And drank the water. And made a horrible face. 

"Do I know you?" Apollo asked, frowning again.

"Sure you do," Starbuck was quick to answer. "You wouldn't go home with just anyone, would you?"

"S'pose not." 

"See? So just lay down, sleep, and in the morning we'll discuss our long and colorful friendship." 

"M'kay." He said it almost like it was a question, but moved to follow Starbuck's directions.

"I'll get you a pillow and a blanket." 

When he returned Apollo already seemed to be asleep, so he tucked the pillow up by his head and covered him with the blanket. "Good night, Apollo."

"'Night, Zaius."

**

The sun was just barely rising, pink-tinted light edging its way through the gaps in his curtains, when he was awakened by a loud thump and a groan.

"Stupid frakkin'… Owwww…."

It appeared that his guest had arisen to greet the morning.

The morning, apparently, was not all that impressed. 

Starbuck sighed and climbed out of his nice warm bed to go out and stare at the very pretty, very disheveled, and very confused man that was lying on the floor between his couch and his coffee table. Apollo was tangled in his blanket, his bare chest (shirt removed at some point during the night, Starbuck surmised) imprinted with the texture of the couch covering, a large red mark showing clearly where his shoulder had struck the low table on his way to the floor.

"Good morning." Starbuck somehow managed not to laugh.

Apollo's head jerked up in surprise, much to the detriment of his obvious hangover. _"Gods."_

"They do seem to hate you this morning," Starbuck agreed. "I'll put on some java."

"Hey…"Apollo groaned again, moving gingerly back up onto the couch. "I'm sure this is a stupid question. But…do I know you?"

Starbuck shrugged. "You certainly do after last night."

"I… what? Did we? I don't usually do…." Apollo's voice dwindled off, his cheeks and ears turning a most appealing shade of pink.

"I mean," Starbuck explained patiently, "I don't go around bailing everyone out of a bar fight, even if they are Commander Adama's eldest."

"Oh. You recognized me and decided to help me." Apollo's voice suddenly became flat rather than vaguely embarrassed.

"Eventually, yeah…. But mostly I did it to keep the second prettiest guy in the room from having his face turned into mush by a guy the size of a small shuttle."

"Second prettiest? Who was the first?"

Starbuck scoffed, "Me, of course."

"Okay," Apollo chuckled, "now I really want to know your name."

"Of course you do, everyone does." He brought two cups of java over to the couch and handed one to Apollo. "The name is Starbuck."

"Apollo…but you already knew that."

Starbuck just nodded, taking a drink of his java. "So…what was that whole thing about last night? I have no trouble imagining the son of Adama having a good drunk now and then, but in _The Stack_? Not so much."

Apollo leaned forward in his seat, both of his hands wrapped around his cup as if he needed the warmth. "Starbuck, have you ever wished you were someone else? I mean, completely someone else?"

"No." Starbuck answered simply. "I've wished I was something else but never someone. I like who I am…I just wish I was, you know, rich… famous…something like that." Starbuck grinned, his imagination dancing around that picture – money, his own ship, women and men alike clamoring for his attention for reasons other than his pretty face.

"Well, I have." Apollo drank some of the java in his cup, grimacing at the strong taste. "But… that's not going to happen so sometimes I just…escape for a little while."

"Like last night?"

"Like last night, "Apollo agreed. "It's much easier to change what you are than who you are. Trust me on that one."

"Being the son of Adama is a rough gig, is it?" Starbuck found that difficult to believe.

"Being his son isn't rough. It's living up to what's expected of you because you are." 

Expectations. Now that was something Starbuck understood. Being an orphan, he'd been dealing with people's expectations all his life. Mostly they seemed to be expectations that he was no good, or useless. Or maybe they thought that a bunch of ne'er-do-well relatives would show up at any moment and encroach on whatever enterprise he was trying to get involved in. 

It might be nice to have people expect _more_ of him for a change, rather than less.

"So, what expectation were you escaping from last night?" Starbuck asked the question casually. He wanted an answer, not to put Apollo on the defensive.

"The Academy. Every male member of our family has served the Colonies as far back as-- Well, I'll just say generations back. As long as there has _been_ an Academy." Apollo took a drink of his cooling java, shaking his head.

"What would you do instead?"

"I don't know," Apollo answered somewhat grimly. "Maybe I'd be a protein farmer or the next great Triad champion. Who knows? It would just be nice to feel like I had a choice and wasn't just the latest in a long line who marched obediently into the Academy."

"Oh, man, I can't feel much sympathy there. I'd love to go to the Academy," Starbuck said honestly. 

Apollo gave a wry grin. "I'd give you my place."

"Don't think I wouldn't take it." Starbuck smiled crookedly. "Three squares a day, clothing and housing provided? I'd like a shot at that. And, on top of that, they actually _pay_ you to fly a viper! What could beat that?"

Apollo shook his head. "You sound like a recruitment ad. Why don't you go?"

That was the question, wasn't it? And the answer was easy. He was being held back by the same thing that was getting Apollo in. Connections. Or in his case, the lack of them.

"Well, they don't just let anybody sign up for the Academy, you know? Someone has to sponsor you. I could enlist in the ground troops but it would make me crazy. I have to fly."

"Are you any good?"

Starbuck gave a snort. "Do daggits bark? I'm the best."

"I love it when someone knows their own worth," Apollo laughed. "Look… this is one time that being who I am might be a good thing. If…If I can talk to a few people and get you a sponsor, would you really be interested?"

"Would I--? Frak yes!"

"I'll talk to—" Apollo frowned for a moment, as if considering. "Tigh. He'll get you set up for testing and if you're as good as you claim, I'm sure he'd be willing to sponsor you. He's a bit stiff and forbidding, but underneath it he appreciates a good pilot."

"You can trust me, Apollo. I never brag about anything I can't back up."

"Why do I get the feeling that 'trust me' are two words that I'm going to learn to fear when I hear them coming out of your mouth?" Apollo asked, shaking his head.

"Oh, come on." Starbuck's eyes sparkled and he threw one arm around Apollo's shoulder in a companionable grip, "I think this is going to be the start of a beautiful friendship."

**fin**


End file.
